Virtue!--to be good and just-- Every heart, when sifted well, Is a clot of warmer dust, Mix'd with cunning sparks of hell.

I came in haste with cursing breath, And heart of hardest steel; But when I saw thee cold in death, I felt as man should feel. For when I look upon that face, That cold, unheeding, frigid brown, Where neither rage nor fear has place, By Heaven! I cannot hate thee now!

The long day wanes; the slow moon climbs the deep.

I built my soul a lordly pleasure-house, Wherein at ease for aye to dwell.

And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

I am half-sick of shadows,' said The Lady of Shalott.

My mind is clouded with a doubt.